“How much will it cost me?” she asked.
“Not a penny,” Wally fired back. “We front the expenses of litigation and take 40 percent of the recovery.”
The coffee tasted like saltwater. After one sip, David wanted to spit. Iris, though, seemed to savor it. She took a long drink, swirled it around her mammoth mouth, then swallowed. “Forty percent sounds like a lot,” she said.
“This is very complicated litigation, Iris, against a corporation with a zillion dollars and a thousand lawyers. Look at it like this: Right now you have 60 percent of nothing. In a year or two, if you hire our firm, you could have 60 percent of something big.”
“How big?”
“Tough question, Iris, but then I remember that you always ask the tough questions. That’s what I always liked about you. Tough question, and to be honest, I can’t answer it, because no one can predict what a jury might do. The jury might see the truth about Krayoxx and get ticked off at Varrick and give you five million bucks. Or, the jury might believe the lies put forth by Varrick and its shifty lawyers and give you nothing. Me, I tend to think the case will go for around a million bucks, Iris, but you gotta understand that I’m not making any promises.” He looked at David and said, “Right, David, we can’t make promises in cases like this? Nothing is guaranteed.”
“That’s right,” David said convincingly, the new mass tort specialist.
She sloshed some more saltwater around her mouth and glared at Wally. “I could sure use some help,” she said. “It’s just me and Clint, and he’s only working part-time these days.” Wally and David were taking notes and nodding along as if they knew exactly who Clint was. She did not bother to elaborate. “I’m living off $1,200 a month Social Security, so anything you can get would be great.”
“We’ll get you something, Iris. I feel sure of it.”
“When might this happen?”
“Another tough question, Iris. One theory is that Varrick will get hit so hard with Krayoxx cases that the company will surrender and negotiate a huge settlement. Most of the lawyers, including me, expect this to happen within the next twenty-four months. The other theory is that Varrick will take a few of these cases to trial, to sort of test the waters around the country, see what juries think about their drug. If this happens, it might take longer to force a settlement.”
Even David, with a fine law degree and five years of experience, was beginning to believe Wally knew what he was talking about. The junior partner went on, “If a settlement occurs, and we certainly believe it will happen, the death cases will be negotiated first. Then Varrick will be desperate to settle all of the non-death cases, folks like you.”
“I’m a non-death case?” she asked, confused.
“For now. The scientific evidence is not clear, but there appears to be a decent chance that Krayoxx is responsible for heart damage in many people who are otherwise healthy.” How anyone could look at Iris Klopeck and deem her healthy was mind-blowing, at least to David.
“Mercy,” she said as her eyes watered. “That’s all I need—more heart problems.”
“Don’t worry about it now,” Wally said, without the slightest trace of reassurance. “We’ll get to your case later. The important thing is to get Percy signed up. You’re his widow and his principal heir; therefore, you need to hire me and act as his representative.” He produced a folded sheet of paper from his rumpled jacket and spread it before Iris. “This is a contract for legal services. You’ve signed one before, for the divorce, when you and Percy came to my office.”
“I don’t remember signing one,” she said.
“We have it on file. You need to sign a new one before I can handle your claim against Varrick.”
“And you’re sure this is all legal and everything?” she asked, hesitant, uncertain.
It struck David as odd that the potential client would ask the lawyer if the document was “legal.” Wally, though, did not inspire a sense of strict ethical standards. Her question did not faze him.
“All of our Krayoxx clients are signing these,” he said, fudging a bit because Iris would technically be the first in her class to sign up. There were other fish in the pond, but no one had actually signed such a contract.
She read it and signed it.
As Wally stuffed it back into his pocket, he said, “Now, listen, Iris. I need your help. I need for you to scope out other Krayoxx cases. Friends, family members, neighbors, anyone else who may have been injured by this drug. Our firm is offering a referral fee of $500 for a death case and $200 for a non-death case. Cash.”
Her eyes were suddenly dry. They narrowed, then a tiny smile formed at the corners of her lips. She was already thinking of others.
David managed to maintain a lawyerly frown as he scribbled useless drivel on a legal pad and tried to digest what he was hearing. Was this ethical? Legal? Cash bribes to bring in more cases?
“Do you happen to know of another death case involving Krayoxx?” Wally asked.
Iris almost said something but held her tongue. It was obvious she had a name. “Five hundred bucks, huh?” she said, her eyes suddenly darting from David’s to Wally’s.
“That’s the deal. Who is it?”
“There’s a man two blocks over, used to play poker with Percy, croaked last year in the shower two months after my Percy passed. I know for a fact he was on Krayoxx.”
Wally’s eyes were wild. “What’s his name?”
“You said cash, right? Five hundred cash. I’d like to see it, Mr. Figg, before I give you another case. I sure need it.”
Stung for a second, Wally rallied with a convincing lie. “Well, normally we make a withdrawal from the firm’s litigation account, keeps the bean counters happy, you know?”
She folded her stump-like arms across her chest, stiffened her spine, narrowed her eyes, and said, “Fine. Go make your withdrawal and bring me the cash. Then I’ll give you the name.”
Wally was reaching for his wallet. “Well, I’m not sure I have that much cash on me. David, how liquid are you?”
David instinctively reached for his wallet. Iris watched with great suspicion as the lawyers scrambled to find cash. Wally produced three $20 bills and a $5 bill and looked hopefully at David, who found $220 in assorted denominations. If they had not stopped by Abner’s to pay the tab, they could have come within $15 of covering Iris’s referral fee.
“I thought lawyers had plenty of money,” Iris observed.
“We keep it in the bank,” Wally shot back, unwilling to concede an inch. “Looks like we have about $285. I’ll stop by tomorrow with the rest.”
Iris was shaking her head no.
“Come on, Iris,” Wally pleaded. “You’re now our client. We’re on the same team. We’re talking about a huge settlement one day, and you won’t trust us with two hundred bucks?”
“I’ll take an IOU,” she said.
At this point, David preferred to stand his ground, show some pride, rake the cash off the table, and say good-bye. But David was anything but sure-footed, and he knew it was not his call. Wally, on the other hand, was a rabid dog. He quickly scribbled an IOU on his legal pad, signed his name, and slid it across the table. Iris read it slowly, disapproved, then handed it to David. “You sign it too,” she said.